Tag: Chris Froome

¡Ay, Chihuahua!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

Ohhhhhhhhh-kay.

I thought Super Spaniard had this one in the bag. He was flat railing those downhill corners. Bobsledders, skydivers and fighter pilots were getting motion sickness just watching him.

And then Zoom-Zoom ambles on in after an ill-timed bike swap in the rain and croaks him by nine seconds.

You could read Super Spaniard’s face like a marked deck: “Hijo de la gran puta.” He shook his head ruefully and smiled with the lower half of his face, the way one does upon being cheated at five-card stud in a strange town while unarmed.

I don’t know what to think, myself. I’m deeply suspicious of this sort of dominance — call me irresponsible — and I don’t like it one bit that Zoom-Zoom is already trying to play the patrón without even having won the fucking race yet.

Bjarne Riis called him a pussy, but he sure doesn’t ride like one. In fact, I’m starting to think Zoom-Zoom can take Mr. 60% in a straight-up Huffy toss.

Backseat drivers

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

Super Spaniard intercoursed the penguin in a downhill corner today and Zoom-Zoom enjoyed a brief dalliance with the roadside foliage.

Afterward, Zoom-Zoom was critical of the way ol’ Supe’ was leading him down that hill.

“If you ask me, it was dangerous for Alberto to do that,” said Zoom-Zoom.

“That’s cycling,” replied Supe’.

I’m going to have to rule for Super Spaniard here. Zoom-Zoom wasn’t looking any too skilled in the corners his own bad self, and in any case wheelsuckers don’t get to talk shit. Not even one who’s wearing the yellow jersey.

So, pipe down already. Don’t make me stop this blog and come back there.

Mont Saywhat?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments
What are YOU on?
Hey, this guy looks familiar. …

I needed a rest day after Mont Ventoux, having thrown my back out while picking my jaw up off the floor.

The smart money was saying that Zoom-Zoom Froome would not win the stage, but would take time on his rivals for The Big Shirt. Uh huh. Not even Nairo Quintana was buying that one, and he was riding alongside the yellow jersey. For a while, anyway.

Now Zoom-Zoom has more than four minutes on everyone with a week left to race and even the dumb money is going, “Mmm hmm.” For his part, Zoom-Zoom says there is no comparison to be made between him and Ol’ Whatsisface. You remember. That guy.

“I’m not cheating. End of story,” says Zoom-Zoom.

Well, actually, no, it’s not the end of the story, Zoom-Zoom old scout. These tales take a while to spin, if recent history is any guide, and this big yellow book is liable to remain open for a spell. Sorry ’bout that.

See, the last few tenants left the maillot jaune in an awful state and we’re still trying to get the damage deposit back.

Spanish fly

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

One Spaniard flies forward and another flies backward as Mr. 60%’s Saxo squad catches Zoom-Zoom Froome daydreaming about his big date in Paris. It may have been the most fascinating sprinters’ stage of the Tour that I’ve ever seen.

Sure, Zoom-Zoom still has more time than a Swiss clock factory. And yes, the mountains loom large starting this weekend. But it’s nice to see that not everyone is ready to take a knee just because Sir Dave unsheathed Nextcalibur on Corsica while Brave Brave Sir Wiggo’ rusts away back on Dear Old Blighty.

What we need to keep the ball rolling is some go-to-hell contender to launch a kamikaze attack on Ventoux or L’Alpe d’Huez. “Fuck a bunch of podium! Victory or death! Yaaaaaahhhhh!”

A guy can always dream.

Help! I need somebody. …

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments

Oh, cycling is a cruel sport. One wonders what Chris Froome and Tejay van Garderen might have been able to do today had they not been restricted to dragging around their respective team leaders, Bradley Wiggins and Cadel Evans?

Poor old Evans looked like he was trying to choke down a double-decker shit sandwich on the final climb while TVG appeared as fresh as a daisy. And Froomey shelled the yellow jersey while towing him past a group of stragglers and had to back off the gas lest Wiggo’ call him a nasty name at the team dinner this evening.

“Wankers & Cunts.” Hmm. That would be a great name for a XXX theater, eh?

Meanwhile, chapeau to Pierre Rolland. He was on the floor at one point after trying (and failing) to tripod around a hairpin corner, and he got up and won the damn’ stage. A fine performance for the home folks.